Page 5 of Hidden Echoes

He looks...angelic.

My hands slacken, and I tilt my head, studying him. Then he smiles again—not a cruel smile, not the kind I’m used to.

It’s so genuine.

Katie smiled like that once, and I’ve never forgotten it. I didn’twant to. Because now I know what a real smile looks like. Like his.

“You’re strong,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Waking up like this must’ve been scary. I could say I’m not here to hurt you, but I don’t know if you’d believe me. So, I’ll just... stay here.” He gestures to a chair across the room. “You can ask me anything you need to. Don’t worry.”

“Are you an angel?” I whisper, my voice trembling.

Maybe I died. I remember giving myself to the light. And then... nothing.

He chuckles softly. “I’d like to say yes, but I guess that depends on who you ask.”

“Are you real?”

“Unfortunately,” he replies, grinning faintly.

Before he can elaborate, the door swings open, and a blonde woman strides in.

“It would’ve been nice to know she’s awake, Zane,” she says, her tone exasperated but light.

Zane.

My angel’s name is Zane.

He’s beautiful. His hair is a blend of honey and sunlight, as if the sun itself had shaped him. His green eyes are warm, yet impossible to read. I want to get closer, to touch him, to understand him.

Kill him.

No. He seems kind.

Kindness is a lie. Nice people have hurt you before. Protect yourself.

The blonde woman turns to me, her smile soft and professional. “I’m Dr. Charlotte Spencer. I know it sounds cliché, but you’re safe here. Can you tell me your name? What happened to you?”

“Mia,” I whisper. “My name is Mia.”

CHAPTER 2

MIA

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeksCharlie, what the fuck?” Zane huffs, walking towards her.

“Well, you stopped trying because I had to take the news that Mia had woken up from someone else.” Her voice comes out all business like she’s testing my name in her mouth.

She and Zane seem close, like they know each other beyond this hospital.

Zane seems irritated. Or maybe he's just really rude to people in general.

Not with me, though.

He was strange, yes—off in a way I couldn’t quite place—but never rude.

Their voices dissolve into the background, a murmur I can't untangle, as my eyes catch the mirror across the room. I’m drawn to it, almost reluctantly, like approaching something I’m afraid to touch but can’t resist.

When I step closer, the image that stares back at me is both foreign and familiar. It’s the first time in years I’ve seen myself, truly seen myself, and the face reflected is a stranger's.

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